


I eat the stars

by captainhurricane



Series: Kinktober 2018 [10]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Macro/Micro, Telepathic Bond, Tentacles, Witch!Keith, Worship, eldritch horror!Shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 19:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16247855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainhurricane/pseuds/captainhurricane
Summary: Keith's known and seen the other universes and all the creatures all his life. He finally meets the one he's been looking for.





	I eat the stars

**Author's Note:**

> today's kinktober prompts are 'micro/macro' and 'telepathic bonds'

Curiosity. It’s driven mankind to madness. It’s driven people to their deaths. Yet… without curiosity mankind wouldn’t have developed to what it is now. Without curiosity a man like Keith would have died.

 

Maybe the curiosity will one day kill him, but it will be a good way to go.

 

He explores the dark corners of the world, he hunts for ghosts, demons, spirits. He writes down rune carvings on cave walls and dreams of ancient machines and the Old Things lurking underneath the surface of the universe. He’s discovered the darkest depths of hell, the furthest reaches of heaven, has fought his own mind numerous times, found his reflection smirking back at him.

What he’s found could have driven less curious minds insane. Yet here he is still, this windy, rainy, bleak day, standing on a cliff, still whole, still full of life. Secrets boil under his skin, between his ribs.

The only thing he has yet to discover in this life is an Old One.

He knows they sleep for a reason, too great for a human mind to comprehend, even a mind like Keith’s – he’s Keith, just Keith, twenty and something, alone all his life, no last name, eyes on the stars – who’s accustomed to the fact that there are an infinite layers of universes and so many dark great things that a human mind simply can’t understand.

Yet…

He knows so many names for them, even the ones without names, he’s seen the night move and how various shapes and shadows have passed him by, curious eyes watching him from the dark.

He whispers such names during nights and even now, on this cliffside, one of the spots where the cults dedicated to one or two or three of the Old Ones have resided. Underneath Keith rages the ocean.

It’s a perfect night for magic.

It’s a perfect night for the night to fall, for the dead bright stars above him to tell him their secrets.

Keith sits down and waits.

This is a good place, he feels it in his bones. There is an existence, right below him, beneath the surface of the ocean – no, in the sky? The existence is the sky, the blinking stars are the eyes, the shadows are the body.

Keith’s been alone all his life but because of this, he’s never been alone. He’s always had the monsters and the ghouls of the world and maybe, just maybe, that does make him insane.

“Hello,” he says to the stars and the sky, the air rustles in the grass around him, the ocean tosses wave after wave to the rocks under him but he doesn’t pay attention to it.

He’s always been sensitive to the energies of the universes, maybe the reason for his ability to find the creatures and communicate.

Yet an Old One. Why have none showed themselves?

Keith closes his eyes.

“Hello,” he says again and yes, this time – this time the night does shiver, visibly. He’s miles and miles and miles away from the nearest civilization, his bag and his tent thrown somewhere down this cliff before he climbed up. He won’t need them for this.

He blows and the air shivers with his magic, this purple, glowing shiver inside him, the only thing left in him from the parents he no longer remembers.

He opens his eyes once more and this time, he knows he’s being watched.

The stars are its eyes.

“Which one are you?” Keith whispers.

The ocean rumbles. _Little thing,_ the Old One whispers. It has no discernible form but still, still Keith thinks he’s looking at its face.

 

_the_

_night_

_it’s_

_the stars blink_

 

Keith shivers, unzips his jacket, stands up. He must look up. The sky shudders, like a glitch, forms something like a face: hair of fluffy dark clouds, a smile like a slice of dark sky, a straight nose, shimmering with stars.

_to your_

_li king_

_little one?_

 

Keith frowns. “What do you care what I like? I just wanted to see one of you. For once. And you didn’t answer my question, Old One.” He keeps his voice steady. Yet his heart has started to race. The night around him is cold but he’s beginning to feel hot.

_I eat_

_despair_

_I devour_

_daylight_

 

Keith has to rub his eyes; his knees threaten to buckle. Terror nibbles at him but he pushes it away. He can take this. He can look at this being. He can. He can.

 

_Little thing._

 

The Old One shifts closer, is closer, has a hand now, still tall as a thousand skyscrapers but less hard to look at. He’s – he? – made himself almost humanoid. His eyes are portals to the infinity of space.

 

His hand wraps around Keith, like the night itself had been made solid and Keith squeaks. “W-what are you doing?”

_Is this_

_not what you wish_

_little one? little ant._

 

The God is amused. His face is like a human’s, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass, his eyes still bottomless pools of space. His voice still rumbles in Keith’s bones, in his very soul, but it comes quieter now, his mouth even moves.

“No one has worshipped the Guardian of the Sky in a millennium, little one,” he whispers and his whisper is the wind of the ages.

He brings Keith closer to his face and then opens his palm, lets Keith rest on it. Keith doesn’t dare to look down, sweaty all over, looking at those impossible eyes, that impossible existence.

 

“Not impossible,” The Old One whispers. “Worship me.”

 

Keith whines. “Yes.” What was he doing before this? Where was he before this? Who even was he before this?

 

He begins to strip, burning too hot for clothes, too hot for his skin. He looks at the God, his god, his Old One and his knees are so weak.

 

“I am Ku – Shi – Ro –“the Old One’s voice overlaps with another voice and another voice, for a second or another his face twists and shifts like in pain, something red like a jagged scar over his nose. He’s so big. He’s beautiful.

 

Keith leaves himself bare on the God’s palm and shivers.

 

“My true name is too much for you, pretty little ant,” Old One whispers. He reveals jagged teeth, like mountain tops.

 

Could

eat

 you

 

The God’s thoughts sliver into Keith, make him wet, make him harder, hotter. He sits down on the smooth palm and spreads his legs.

 

Who was he?

Who is he?

 

“Worship me,” whispers the God. “You will say Shiro – “the voices overlap once more, the Old One’s face twists. He snarls, he smiles then. “Kuron. Shiro. It is all fine. I am all of them.”

 

“I” doesn’t seem to be a word large enough for this God.

 

Keith whines and wraps his hand around himself.

 

“You are so very small.”

 

The God is reading him, flashing through Keith’s life and personality, turning him inside out with just a gaze.

 

Keith burns, oh, how he burns. He quickly pulls his hand away from his cock when prompted, the God whispers in his mind or maybe it’s the night, maybe it’s all the souls this God has eaten, all the daylight it, he, has devoured, merged into itself, himself.

 

The God’s thumb is as big as Keith himself yet it’s gentle when it presses against him, rubs him.

“Keith, with no last name,” The Old One whispers. Keith grabs the big thumb made of stars and grinds against it, beginning to whimper, beginning to pant. He could be eaten, snapped like a twig, melted, turned to dust. Yet he’s hard, he burns hot with arousal unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

“Keith with magic of the stars.”

 

Keith moans, a pitiful little sound in the infinity of this God, this Shiro.

“If you were entirely human, you would have burned to touch already,” the Old One hums and continues to rub him, all the way until Keith climaxes, shoots little rivulets of white over the starry skin of the God, his God.

“W-what?”

Shiro is smiling, his thoughts humming with amusement. It’s the God’s mind that’s probing Keith, wrapping around his own thoughts, igniting that flame inside of him. Keith is being invaded, turned into a doll, a puppet, a torch of nothing but feeling.

He’s an ant.

 

Who was he before this?

Does it matter?

 

“This pleases you,” Shiro whispers. Something is slithering up his arm, his hand, something quite like tentacles. Shiro curls his massive palm, like threatening to crush Keith. Yet he just keeps the fingers curled, forming a protective cover of starry dark around Keith.

“Can’t see you like this, your infinity,” Keith whimpers, shoves a finger inside himself, dry. He burns, oh, how he burns.

“Little thing,” the God murmurs and opens his palm. His smile is terrifying to look at, yet he is still beautiful, end of the world beautiful to Keith, who’s haunted ghosts and demons all his life.

The God brings him closer to his face and parts his lips – Keith squeezes his eyes closed, his heart thrumming with sudden terror, the burning arousal – he’s not eaten after all.

“You would burn me if I were to eat you, little mortal,” Shiro whispers. His fingertip strokes Keith’s back and then presses him on his stomach. “And I do not wish for pain.”

“W-what? Hey – “something slithers up Keith’s leg and teases his pucker.

“You do not need eyes to see.”

 

Darkness falls on Keith, starless. He inhales sharply and then – it’s the God’s tongue, licking him, spreading hot, hot, wet saliva on him until he’s drenched, arousal pushing away all thoughts of terror and fear. There is nothing but the God and Keith’s love for him.

This is the Old One he’s been looking for all his life.

 

“Worship me, little Keith,” Shiro whispers. A tentacle, made of light, dark, night, slithers into Keith and begins to fuck him without warning, gathers the God’s saliva and thickens, fucks him and fucks him and fucks him until Keith is creaming himself again, rubbing desperately against the smooth valleys of the God’s hand.

 

“Love me, little Keith.”

 

“Yes,” is all Keith can say.


End file.
